Daddy issues || h.s

4.3

The fluorescent blue of the neon sign fell across his face and reflected in his eyes. A dozen light bulbs formed the word "open," kindly inviting him into the run down gas station. The sound of her breathing still echoed in his ears, and the ghost of her body heat was fading fast as the glass doors slid open. 

 He walked down the half-empty aisles with his hands in his pockets, his eyes floating past the gaudy items on the shelves without ever really seeing them. He was alone, a sleepy cashier the only other person in the store. He walked over to her, and saw a small smile light up her face, as if she was happy she was no longer alone.

 "Good day sir, how may I help you?" The cashier said. She had dark brown eyes and curly black hair that stood like a halo around her head. She was pretty, but the golden septum gleaming in her nose made it hard to look at her.

"Can I have a pack of cigarettes please?" Harry said, his lips turning upwards: the parody of a smile.

"Of course," she said. "What brand do you want?"

"It doesn't really matter," he mumbled. A frown appeared on the girl's face as the words reached her ears, and it looked as though she wanted to say something to him, but eventually she just handed him a pale blue packet of cigarettes. 

"Do you need a lighter too?" He nodded, and she placed a black lighter on the counter. She told him the price, her voice sounding a thousand miles away. His hands shook as he handed her the money, and as he turned around to leave, she might have said something more, but he didn't listen to her, because the fluorescent blue of the neon sign stained his hair, and all he could hear was the sound of ocean waves crashing into shore.

His fingers trembled as he lit the cigarette, the small flame of the lighter falling across his face as the tip lit up. The flames travelled down his throat and down into his lungs, the black coal glowing red as they caught fire. Heat radiated from within him, melting away the thin layer of ice that covered every inch of his body, and he finally stopped shaking. The winter of his mind let go, and the summer night embraced him as black smoke welled up from his mouth. 

Ash stained his fingers as he smoked cigarette after cigarette, and the ground around him was scattered with their burnt out corpses. He sat down, watching cars dive by, wondering if he knew any of the people in them, or if he would ever know them. He didn't think he ever would, but he liked wondering about it. 

He liked wondering if the next car would stop, if a person would step out of it and smile at him, if he knew that person, or if he didn't. He liked wondering if the next car would drive by, its headlights illuminating the night as they drove past him, if they would notice him or not, if they were driving towards something or away from something. He knew he would never know, but he wondered anyways. 

Eventually, a car came by. It didn't stop. And then he didn't want to wonder any more.

Dust whirled up in its wake, and a crumpled up piece of paper landed by his feet. He picked it up, his soft fingers smoothing out its creases. Words were scrawled upon it, some of them had been scribbled out, only to be rewritten, while others were pressed so harshly onto the paper the pen had gone trough it. It was a list. Written in blue ink.

The writing seemed familiar, like the sweet tones of a song you heard in early childhood. He didn't want to listen to it any more. So he spun the wheel of the lighter, and a yellow flame shot up. It licked the corner of the list, and it must have tasted sweet, for soon it devoured the words with a hunger he had never seen before. 

He watched as the flames neared his fingertips, and then he let it fall to the ground. There it lay, the blue list slowly turning into black ash. 

He didn't stay long enough to see the flames die out.